


Painting the Past

by Homo_Parade



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation AU!, What are Tags?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:17:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homo_Parade/pseuds/Homo_Parade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco had been painting since he was three. . He painted pictures of rolling hills, of high walls and faceless people he felt like he knew too well… But then the night terrors came. Reincarnation AU where Marco paints his past life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painting the Past

**Author's Note:**

> Wow guys I let this go too far. It was only gonna be a drabble but I wanted to write another stupid first kiss, with Jean initiating it this time, and reincarnation AUs are my favourite so yeah. Here you go. I apologise in advance for OOC-ness!

Marco had been painting since he was three.

His mother had sat him down with some paints and together they painted a meadow full of horses. The memory seems silly to everyone else, but to Marco it was the start of a long love affair with canvas and ink.

He’d applied to several art classes, but there weren’t many opportunities for aspiring artists in his area. Everyone lived to join a trade; to become a carpenter or an electrician or whatever trade their heart desired. The arts were nothing but a hobby in this town, a fairy-tale dream. However, Marco’s dear mother had always supported him. She always told him to paint his dreams, which he would do eagerly. He painted pictures of rolling hills, of high walls and faceless people he felt like he knew too well…

But then the night terrors came.

They started when he was about 12, and oh were they _terrifying_. Marco would be chased and attacked by giant monsters, with twisted faces and gangly limbs. They were always the same. No matter how much he tried to make himself move a different way, he’d always take the same path; he’d always die the same way. He’d always be alone. He would scream and thrash about in his sleep, unable to awaken. His mother, although initially terrified, learned how to wake him up and soothe him slightly. She would rub his back and hold him close, assure him that he was safe and that she would listen to him if he wanted to talk about it.

He never did.

Marco didn’t like to talk about the terrors that haunted him, but when his mother was away he would paint them. He had to get it out of his head somehow. Most of them were blurred images of a broken and blood-covered street, faceless corpses slumped and coated in bite marks and crimson liquid. He hid these paintings away, kept them hidden from his mother. He didn’t want to drag her into his inner conflictions.

When he was 17 and she passed away, Marco had nobody left. He was old enough to live on his own, and even had a part-time job outside of school, and received a pension, but still… There was nobody to comfort him during his night terrors. He would wake up, eventually, in a pool of cold sweat and hot tears. He had nothing to do but to paint the images that haunted him. He painted many scenes, and although he hated most of them, he was told that they were wonderful by the few teachers he actually trusted with seeing them. They urged him to showcase his work, but Marco refused. It was too private for him.

Marco often had sleepless nights. His mind was too wary of the terror of his nightmares to allow himself rest. Instead, he considered the possibility that the images he saw were memories from a past life. On these nights, if he fell asleep, he would experience dreams; not nightmares. In these dreams, there would be no death or monsters chasing him. There would be a group of people with blurred but distinct faces, all smiling and laughing with him. And then, there was one boy, one boy who would comfort him in these dreams. A boy with golden eyes.

Marco would wake up from these dreams with a small smile on his face and a single stray tear dripping down his face. He didn’t know what made him feel worse; being hunted by monsters, or knowing he’d never feel the affection this golden-eyed boy gave him.

One day, on a whim, Marco agreed to let the teachers showcase his work. He was nearing the end of his high schooling, and having refused to pick up a trade, he needed some way to get his art out in the public. They were pleased with Marco’s decision, and asked him to choose his best three paintings for the school’s annual arts exhibition in a month’s time. Marco considered all of his paintings. He had many to pick from, but there were few he was comfortable sharing. However, if he was to get over the terrors that consumed his nights, he had to set them free.

Marco fell to sleep determined the night he chose to showcase his works, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he was out. He wasn’t, however, in the same old town being hunted by monsters. He was with the golden-eyed boy.

They were eating in a large cafeteria of sorts, a small bowl of broth placed in front of each one of them. Marco didn’t know what exactly was going on, but he felt safe and warm, surrounded by all of these people.

 “Oi Marco, you made the top ten, right?” a boy beside him asked, and Marco almost died when he saw the two-toned hair and golden eyes of _that_ boy. The boy who kept him safe.

Marco felt as if his body was in auto pilot, because next thing he knows he’s grinning and saying “yeah, you are too right? Looks like we’re going to the Military Police together after all,”

 “I’m relieved, even though that Jaeger brat got higher than me…” The boy said with a bitter edge, but regained his cocky smirk when he took Marco’s hand, “come on, I’ve got something to show you,”

Marco felt himself slide out of his chair and be pulled out of the cafeteria by Jean. He noticed that the other people in the room were quite rowdy, but the noise faded away as the boy took him further from the room and over to a clearing. The boy sat down on the ground and pulled Marco down with him.

He fell with a soft thud beside the boy and turned his head to the sky. The boy said “look, the stars are really bright tonight,”

 “Wow I didn’t know you liked to stargaze,” In this dream, Marco was so much more… outspoken than he was in real life. He surprised himself with how comfortable he was socialising.

 “Shut up,” the boy said teasingly, sitting up and punching Marco in the shoulder before lying down with his head on his arms, “Armin told me that there will be shooting stars tonight, and I guessed it was something you’d be interested in…”

 “Thank you Jean, that’s very thoughtful,” Marco said, almost missing the fact that he said the boy’s name. _Jean_. It sounded foreign, but comforting to him. Marco watched the sky closely, waiting for _something_ to happen. It did.

 “Um, Marco…” Jean said shyly, and for some reason Marco was shocked by the quietness of the boy’s voice. Despite barely seeing this boy in his dreams, Marco oddly felt a strong connection between them. He felt as if he knew this Jean like the back of his hand.

 “What’s the matter Jean?” he found himself asking, real concern lacing his tone.

 “Ha, nothing!” Jean bluffed, turning away slightly from Marco so that his face would be hidden. Marco noticed a pinkish-tinge appear on it, and the brief thought of how cute Jean was when he was flustered swept through his mind. Marco was embarrassed, but he didn’t feel it. He wasn’t experiencing embarrassment in this dream; rather, he was nervous.

 “Look Jean, a shooting star!” Marco cried out, pointing up in the sky at the streak of white just disappearing out of sight.

 “Make a wish then,” Jean said, turning back to Marco with really weird expression on his face.

Marco didn’t know why, but his first thought was _I wish that I get a kiss from Jean_.

 “I made my wish,” Marco said before turning on his side and eyeing Jean, who was hiding his face in his hands. “Jean? What did you wish for?”

Jean peaked from his hands, a nervous blush coating his face as he suddenly closed the gap between the two of them. Marco’s breath was stolen when Jean suddenly connected their lips in a short and chaste kiss before pulling away.

Marco felt himself chuckle nervous before asking “What was that about?” despite the nonchalance in his voice, Marco could feel his heart beating erratically, and his mind was a jumble.

 “N-Nothing, it was just a celebratory kiss, idiot,” Jean stuttered, and Marco’s heart did a flip.

Before he could even process what he was doing, he was cupping the other boy’s face and kissing him very gently, but with passion. He could _feel_ the touch of Jean’s lips against his, he could _hear_ the small squeak of surprise from the other boy. This dream was all too real to be just a dream…

 “M-Marco, what-”

 “You don’t have to act like you don’t know Jean,” Marco laughed, “I’m in love with you,”

If Marco was in control of his body, he would’ve groaned and slapped himself for being so _forward_ with Jean. However, the boy seemed to appreciate Marco’s blunt nature, because he let out a small chuckle of relief and gave a genuine smile.

 “I actually didn’t know that,” he said, sitting up and motioning for Marco to do the same. His body complied, and he felt himself sitting up and leaning back on his hands.

 “Come on, it was so obvious,” Marco smiled sweetly, “I didn’t think you’d kiss me though… I guess my wish came true,”

If Marco could’ve stayed with the golden-eyed boy for even a minute longer, he would have. He would sleep an eternity just to feel this sense of warmth and _love_ that he hadn’t felt since his mother died. He wanted to be with Jean, he _had_ to be with Jean, but sadly dreams don’t last forever. Marco was suddenly hyper-aware that he had gained control of his body again, but the image of Jean smiling at him with the stars shimmering overhead was beginning to blur. Marco reached out to grasp Jean in desperation, but opened his eyes and grasped at air. He was sitting on his bed, alone, just like usual.

Marco felt numb at first, staring at his wall and trying to piece together who and where he was. When Marco finally regained his bearings, he suddenly broke into tears, startling even himself. Jean wasn’t a real person… he was truly alone. All Marco wanted was to return to Jean’s side, to be with him and to protect him from… _something_! He didn’t know what, but there was _somewhere_ he felt like he needed to be!

Marco didn’t know how to express his feelings well. That was what canvas and paint were for; expressing his inner turmoil. So, instead of sitting there and crying for the whole day, Marco set up an easel, took out a canvas, and forced himself to paint. At first he didn’t know what exactly he wanted to paint… Marco closed his eyes, paintbrush in hand, and thought about the last thing he saw. It was Jean, smiling at him, with the stars twinkling and falling behind him. Marco opened his eyes and choked back a sob. That’s what he would paint.

Marco didn’t go to school that day, or the next. He poured all of his strength and energy onto that one painting, he poured his heart and soul and grief and loneliness all into expressing his feelings towards the golden-eyed boy with the two-tone hair. It was late the second night when Marco put the finishing touches on his painting, and for the first time in the last two days he smiled. It was utter perfection; exactly how he saw Jean in his mind. Marco lightly touched Jean’s cheek and stared into his eyes. He was so _real_ , both in the painting and in his dream. Marco wished he _was_ real…

Before the art exhibition, Marco chose two other paintings of his. One was of one of the beasts looming above him. He chose it because it was the most accurate portrait of the monsters he had painted. The second was a landscape, one that he often saw in his more peaceful dreams, of a town behind a giant wall. It was more serene than his other paintings, so Marco chose it to display a calmer side of the world inside his mind.

The day of the exhibition came and Marco was a nervous wreck. He wringed his hands together and stood with the other artists to the side as people from all around began filing in to the school to view the showcase. Marco’s peers assured him that people would love his paintings, but he wasn’t so sure. His nightmares haunted them, but now he was showing them to everyone else… How could anyone else love them when he loathed them? He was proud of his paintings, but the only one he really loved was the one he painted of Jean…

Marco sighed heavily when the teachers urged the artists to go and mingle with the guests, to introduce themselves and explain their artworks. Marco didn’t want to explain his paintings, but he knew better than to refuse the teachers. He didn’t want to kick a fuss, so when the other students grumbled and spread out across the room, Marco did too. He slowly made his way to where his paintings were set on display, and saw a lot of people crowded around there. And by a lot, he meant _a lot_.

 “Look at the big scary monster mama!” One of the boys said, before growling and chasing a little girl around. Marco chuckled quietly to himself as he watched the children play. Their innocence was adorable.

 “This one’s my favourite!” an older girl exclaimed, pointing at the landscape, “It looks so peaceful and calm, like a nice holiday,”

 “But there’s walls surrounding it,” another girl pointed out, “wouldn’t you feel trapped?”

Marco smiled as the people continued to speculate about his paintings before moving on to the next display. All of the reviews were positive, and even though Marco didn’t speak to any of them, he was beaming just knowing that they liked this works. When the majority of the people moved on, there was one person who just stood in front of the paintings, a bag dropped to his side.

 “May I help you?” Marco asked rather timidly to the person. They were slightly shorter than Marco and were wearing a hoodie, but he could tell this person was a guy by his build and posture. Marco built up the courage to go over to the boy, and say that his line-of-sight fell directly on the painting of Jean.

 “Do you like this one?” Marco asked, pointing to the painting, “This is my favourite too, I actually painted it…” No response. Marco took a deep breath and continued to speak, despite his nerves, “It’s a painting of a boy who’s kind of special to me…”

 “Marco…” the boy said, and Marco’s heart froze. The voice sounded oddly familiar… “That’s your name isn’t it?”

 “Y-yes!” Marco responded, “I’m Marco Bodt,”

 “It’s been a long time Marco,” the boy hummed to himself, sounding more relieved than amused by Marco’s presence. The boy took of his hood and Marco couldn’t supress the surprised squeak that left him when he noticed the boy’s two-toned hairstyle.

 “Uh… This must be another dream…” Marco muttered when his eyes met with golden ones. He wanted to sob and laugh and scream… His heart was so conflicted! This couldn’t be real, right? Jean was just a person in his dreams… right?

 “If one of us is dreaming, it’s me,” the boy chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head, “I didn’t think I would ever find you,”

 “I don’t understand,” Marco replied, taking a step back. Standing too close to this person was making his head spin.

 “Marco… Don’t you recognise me?” The boy asked, and the pain in his voice made Marco’s heart break, “It’s me, Jean! Don’t you know about…?”

 “Are you trying to say that my dreams are real?” Marco asked, and try as he might he couldn’t keep back the desperate tone out of his voice, “are you saying that I was chased by monsters and that you are real, and that you and I-”

 “Kissed when finding out that we were going into the Military Police, yeah,” Jean finished.

The fact that Jean knew about that gave him reason enough to believe. Marco could feel relieved tears begin to well up. He allowed Jean to wrap his arms around him as he silently cried, his body shaking and the tears soaking Jean’s hoodie. Jean shielded Marco from all the onlookers and glared at anyone who would stare at them for too long.

 “Jean, I don’t… I don’t know what happened…” Marco sobbed, burying his face in Jean’s shoulder, “All I know was that there were lots of monsters and-”

 “Titans,”

 “There were lots of titans and… I ran and r-ran…”

 “Sssh, calm down Marco,” Jean soothed him, rubbing circles in his back, “there aren’t any titans here, it’s okay,”

Those words reminded Marco of a dream he had once, where he was lying in a bunk bed crying and Jean had come to comfort him. It only made him cry harder, for some reason. Teachers and students came to check on the pair, but Jean assured them that everything was okay. He didn’t want anyone to interrupt…

 “Jean, did I die before you?” Marco asked, finally lifting his head from Jean’s shoulder and letting go of him to rub at his eyes.

 “Yeah… But it’s okay, I have you now,” Jean forced a smile and took one of Marco’s hands, pressing Marco’s knuckles to his lips and not once breaking eye contact, “we can remember all the good parts of our past life together, okay?”

Marco nodded, and for the first time in ages, he felt as if he was where he was supposed to be.


End file.
